


crescentville, north carolina

by lesbianauriel



Series: three idiot avatars fuck up a town [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Gen, No beta we die like archival assistants, THIS IS JUST SELF INDULGENCE OK, Timeline? What Timeline?, it's only brought up to shame seth's horrible taste in men, takes place in the world of tma but doesn't deal with the main characters if that makes sense, the oc/jonah is VERY VERY minor, this ended up encompassing fourteen whole ocs so.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25001512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianauriel/pseuds/lesbianauriel
Summary: A tiny, backwater town in the rural American south seems to act as a magnet for strange happenings, and even stranger people...or; what would happen if someone stuck fourteen avatars in one town? found family, night vale-esque shenanigans, and a whole lot of idiots doing their best.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Nonbinary Character, Original Male Charatcer/Jonah Magnus (Unrequited)
Series: three idiot avatars fuck up a town [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809733
Kudos: 11





	1. local teenage retail worker makes friends with victiorian twink

**Author's Note:**

> introducing: victorian twink haunting a mannequin

Old shops lined Main Street, doors propped open in an effort to garner _some_ relief from the oppressive heat. The brick buildings on either side of the street were old, lacking in proper air conditioning -- and the antique shop wasn't any different, save for the shut door, and the box fan whirring fruitlessly near the entrance.

Since their seventeenth birthday, Marlowe's mom had been insistent on them getting a job. The job at Pandora's Box was a blessing -- the owner, Mister Orville, was a kind (if a bit strange) old man with pale skin, a bald head, and a face lined with wrinkles that made him look ancient. He had offered them a job as soon as they mentioned they were looking for one, and they had been glad to take it.

It was slow most days, especially in the evenings. The sun cast the town in a pale orange glow, the shadow of the church at the end of Main looming over a few of the shops, and Marlowe was falling asleep at the register when they heard the voice.

"Well, _hello_! Lovely place you've got here!"

They jumped, eyes blowing wide for a moment, searching for the owner of the voice. It sounded... British? And a bit wispy, almost, barely there --

"Over here, dear!" Definitely British. Marlowe glanced over to the corner of the shop, standing up from their chair with a creak and peering over the small counter. That was where Orville kept the older dolls, precious porcelain and china delicately posed on the shelves. A narrow hallway led to the records room, where Orville meticulously kept track of every single item in the shop - who sold it, from where, and for how much. The real center of the doll display, though, was The Mannequin. It was _properly_ old, dressed in cheesy, Victorian-style clothes, and worth a _lot_ of money, but he - Mister Orville always called it a _he_ \- wasn't for sale. He freaked out the customers, so the thought that anyone would go anywhere near him was ... odd. Even stranger still, there ... _wasn't_ anyone over there.

Marlowe blinked owlishly. "Um - Sorry, but I still don't ...?"

"Oh?" The Mannequin's head tilted slowly. "But you're looking right at me. Have you gotten your eyesight checked recently?" It - _He_ \- asked, not unkindly. "Oh, dear, my neck is _stiff._ I must've slept wrong."

"... I - You? - Um. Hm."

"No need to be shy! Though, I _am_ terribly confused - where, exactly, am I? And what is _that_?" He lifted a cloth arm to point towards the fan.

... This town could be weird. That's the thing. With Mister Orville's obsession with antiques, and the screams from the swamp outside of town, and the way the mud seemed a bit thicker than anywhere else, Marlowe was used to things being a little bit _strange_. Still. There were _limits._

Marlowe fought back a deep sigh. Maybe they were hallucinating. _Hopefully_ , they were hallucinating. "...You're in Crescentville. And that's a fan."

"Crescentville! Lovely name, but, uh - that ... Hm."

"In North Carolina," they clarified. "America."

"Oh! That clears up quite a bit!" The Mannequin took a surprisingly steady step, its porcelain head swerving around to take in the shop. "Is there a man named Jonah around here? He mentioned something about bringing me to America."

"...Maybe? I don't - uh. I think - Mister Orville keeps records, and, um - I can see who sold you...?"

" _Sold_?"

"Well, you're - okay. Okay." Marlowe took a deep breath. "There's a mirror on the wall over there," they nodded towards the front of the shop. "You go take a look at it and I'll go find the records."

They disappeared through the hallway by the doll's display quickly, only managing a few steps before they heard a quiet gasp, and then - a very, _very_ shrill scream, followed by silence. Marlowe winced, making their way deeper into the records. The Mannequin had been there longer than they had been - longer than Mister Orville, even. He was one of the shop's very first acquisitions. Somewhere near the very back of the records, then.

It wasn't long before there was a shuffling noise, and Marlowe glanced behind them to find The Mannequin, looking very forlorn despite his static features. "This," The Mannequin said, "is a very unexpected turn of events. The _Stranger_ , really! I had at least hoped for something sophisticated!"

"Um. You and me both, uh, Mister...?"

"Hicks. Seth Hicks."

"Mister Hicks. Alright. Sure. Marlowe Tonner." They turned back to the records, hauling out a huge, leather-bound book from the shelf. This was the oldest record book the shop had, dating back to the early nineteenth century. What was the name Mister Hicks mentioned? Jonah? They flipped through the book, scanning the neat, cursive print for the words _Jonah_ and _Mannequin._ It was a good while before they found ...

"Full-sized stuffed cloth mannequin, modified painted porcelain head, sold to Pandora's Box in 1831 for five dollars." They hmmed for a moment, fishing their phone out of their pocket - to Mister Hick's astonishment - quickly searching up something. "That would be about ... 150 dollars, I think, today."

Mister Hicks stared, and though his painted eyes didn't move, Marlowe could _feel_ the puppy dog eyes he was giving them. They glanced down at their phone, sighed again, and passed it to him. He seemed to brighten immediately, fiddling with the phone in vain - his cloth fingers didn't seem to work with the touch-screen, but he looked pleased nonetheless. They turned back to the book. "You were sold by the Magnus Institute in London. Jonah Magnus oversaw the transaction."

"He did, did he?" Mister Hicks stopped fiddling with the phone. "Does the Magnus Institute still exist?"

"I'm pretty sure it does, I think Mister Orville was trying to buy some ... some collector guy's books from them."

"And who is this Mister Orville, by the by?"

"He, uh, owns the shop."

Mister Hicks nodded, huffing a bit despite the lack of lungs. "Well. I assume I can't exactly stroll into town, hm? I suppose I'll have to play dead."

  
"I ... Uh. Yeah, I guess."

"Who else works at this ... Pandora's Box?"

"Just me. Mister Orville when I'm in school."

"I see. So, at the very least, I'll have _someone_ to talk to."

"Um. Sure?"

Mister Hicks nodded, seemingly appeased, and marched back into the main shop. Marlowe blinked as he left, before closing the book and carefully pushing it back onto the shelf.

Life in Crescentville was already so goddamn weird.

Marlowe entered the shop proper to find Seth sprawled out dramatically on the counter, a pressing the back of his hand against his brow, lamenting about betrayal and rattling off a few names they didn't recognize. They gave a sympathetic pat to his knee, taking their place behind the counter, and sitting back down in their old chair with a creak.

This may as well happen.


	2. local teacher bullied for dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mister Jones, the ninth grade algebra teacher and local heart-throb, is harassed by several members of the town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing: oleander jones, teacher and sworn enemy of lightbulbs  
> cw for: some body horror, implied eye trauma, and orville sharing some pretty gross facts.

The classroom was, as always, dark. The blinds were tightly drawn, the lights were off, and, as the last of the students filtered out to flee home, it was blessedly quiet.

It wasn't that Mister Jones was the self-isolating type -- that was far more Lewis's thing -- but there are very few things that made him appreciate solitude than an entire day spent with rowdy teenagers. He sat behind his desk, pen scratching away as he graded the assignments handed in. Then, cutting through the shadows was a single sliver of light...

"Fun fact, the leading causes of accidental deaths among people aged twelve to nineteen are car accidents, poisoning, and drowning!"

Jones groaned softly, rubbing his eyes and glancing to the door, where milky white eyes- thirty-one of them, to be exact - met his.

"Hi, Orville."

"Hello, Mister Jones!" Even after years in America, Orville's voice still sounded impossibly posh. "Fun fact, there is an unknown, squamous thing in your left cupboard again."

"Yes, I know, it's another of the Spiral's presents, I think. I'll have to ask the mayor to ensure the Distortion doesn't take my students into the hallways again."

"Jolly good, then." Orville flashed him a smile, all sixteen-and-a-half pairs of his hazy eyes blinking. Only two, Jones knew, could actually see.

Jones sighed, placing down the pencil on his desk. "...Is there something you need?"

"Fun fact," Orville began, and Jones bit back another groan, "In fourteenth century England, mice were cut in half and rubbed on painful areas on the body to soothe the aches. They were also mashed into a paste and fed to children as a cure for bed-wetting."

Jones grimaced. He had seen a lot. Hell, before he came to Crescentville, he had _done_ a lot. He didn't consider himself to be particularly squeamish, but Orville always seemed to know just how to make him vaguely uneasy. "Thank you. That was definitely something I both needed and wanted to know."

"Fun fact --"

"I think I've heard quite enough, though!"

"There's a new avatar of the Eye. His name is Jonathan Sims, the Archive."

"...Jonathan Sims will not play any meaningful part in my life, Orville."

"He _might_ ," Orville said, ancient, wrinkled face pulled into a frown. "You don't know! He might visit! And kill us!"

"Killing," Jones began, not unkindly, "Is not a very Beholding thing. That's more up the Slaughter's alley."

"Did you know the Slaughter was once manifested as a band?"

He sighed, fighting the urge to find Abigail and ask her to fling him directly into the sun. "No."

"Fun fact: Music is proven to help people bond, both platonicly and romanti-"

Orville was gone before he could finish his sentence. It was as if he was there one moment, and simply _gone_ the next. ...Well. Worse things have happened. He turned back to his papers.

It wasn't until the temperature dropped several degrees that he realized, _oh, right, people don't tend to just disappear on their own, do they?_ He put down his pen and spoke to the seemingly-empty room, "Hello, David."

"Hello," came the soft, chipper reply. It was hard to see the lonesome man in the light, let alone the Dark. Jones didn't even try. "I -"

The door flew open fully, and the blessed Darkness was shattered. Jones slumped into his seat, David mumbled a soft ' _oh_ ', and the room was suddenly far too bright.

"Seth and Mars are throwing a concert tonight," Daniel from the cafe said, the gossamer of the webs draped around his shoulders glistening gently in the light cast into the room. "There's about five people lined up your door to ask you out. If you go with me, I'll let you leave early."

Not glancing up again, Jones simply nodded his assent. Daniel gave a victorious shout, sauntered out the room, and closed the door.

"...I was going to ask you..." David's voice sounded again, before the room was once again warm, quiet, and wonderfully _Dark._ Daniel sighed, picked up his pen, and got back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in order of appearance:  
> oleander jones, avatar of the dark  
> alfred orville, avatar of the beholding  
> david lewis, avatar of the lonely  
> daniel brown, avatar of the web

**Author's Note:**

> seth: oh, mister magnus ;) it's lovely to see you again ......... how may i be of service ........... ;) ..............................
> 
> jonah: ...who are you again?
> 
> seth: look at me, going into danger ;)) to impress you .... mister magnus...... ;))) [proceeds to get stranger-fied]
> 
> jonah: well that solves that problem.


End file.
